


Helping Hand

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Fluff, God Ships It, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Some people are meant to be together. Everybody knows it the second they see them. Aziraphale and Crowley are two such souls who should be together. But fear and stubbornness keep them from taking that first leap....At three o'clock one sunny afternoon , someone takes it upon themselves to give them a little push.





	Helping Hand

“Kiss me, angel.”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up, yanking his gaze unceremoniously from his book and aiming it squarely on the demon who has slid onto the park bench beside him. “I’m sorry … what?”

“Kiss me.”

Aziraphale leans back a hair. “_Why_?”

“You see that woman over there?” Crowley motions with his chin but keeps his face alarmingly close to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale turns slightly and takes a peek at the woman in question dressed in a stylish white pant suit, casually walking in their general direction, set to pass them by fairly soon if she follows her current course. He notices her eyes dart their way, resting an inch past his face. Resting on _Crowley_. She smiles and winks – executively flirty, Aziraphale would call it.

He groans low in his throat, shakes his head and returns to his book.

“Oh dear Lord. You don’t have me caught up in one of your temptations, do you? Can’t you implant whatever you want in her mind without us actually having to … you know …?”

Crowley jerks back as if that comment physically slapped him across the face. “Ah, I see. So what you’re saying is you don’t _want_ to kiss me.”

“I never said _that_,” Aziraphale replies, cool as a cucumber, turning the page without finishing the one before. He wants to appear unfazed by Crowley’s suggestion, or his accusation, occupied by something other than this conversation. Something other than the thought of kissing him. “What I’m saying is …”

“… you _do_ want to kiss me.”

“_Yes_.” Aziraphale shuts his eyes in frustration. “_No_. No, not no, but not yes … look, this isn’t a discussion we should be having here!”

“Then where do you want to have it?” Crowley’s voice slides to a murmur that crawls beneath Aziraphale’s skin, makes him uncomfortable in a warm and tingly sort of way. “Your shop or my flat?”

“Neither. I just … me … I mean, I … and you … urgh!” Aziraphale slams his book shut, accidentally trapping his finger in the process. “Why are you trying to confuse me?”

“I’m not trying to confuse you!”

“Then what exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to _kiss_ you.”

“Wha---oh. I don’t … I don’t understand. Are you … asking me?”

“Yes, Aziraphale.” Crowley moves again, sitting far too close to make decision making easy. He glances once at the angel’s lips, then changes his mind and takes a longer, more leisurely look. Aziraphale breathes in, shuddering the longer that look lasts, but that doesn’t shame Crowley into looking away. “I’m asking you to kiss me.”

“Here?” Aziraphale looks nervously around. “_Now_?”

“No one’s watching.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to use his powers to know Crowley is right about that. Aside from that woman (_Wait! He just remembered … isn’t she watching? Crowley is tempting her after all …_) there are a handful of kids playing tag on the far side of the park, and four covert agents standing at the pond with their backs to them, feeding ducks and exchanging secrets, none of them particularly interested in the angel and demon arguing over a kiss.

“But I’ve never … I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Crowley scoots in, close enough to rub noses. “Neither have I. Makes this more exciting, don’t ya think?”

“I suppose …”

“First things first, since I realize I caught you off guard and all – do you _want_ to kiss me?”

Aziraphale’s mouth opens before he consciously thinks to speak. Luckily, he catches himself before he can say something silly … like _no_. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Right. So … what are you waiting for?”

“Okay.” Aziraphale shifts in his seat, swallows down a bitter mouthful of anxiety. “Should we count to three or …?”

Crowley cuts him off with his lips against his, swallowing the end of his sentence, replacing the words in his mouth with heat and longing. It’s not a long kiss, not one with the most finesse, but dear _God_! Aziraphale feels it straight through his body, right down to the soles of his feet. It moves through him, ferreting out his secrets – desires he didn’t even know he had about a future with his demon and everything that could entail. Everything he never dreamed of.

Things he thought were reserved for mortals only.

This kiss seeds his thoughts, plants the things he inspires in others – love and hope and happiness.

And _family_.

Crowley moves away when he feels Aziraphale stop breathing, concerned and confused by this reaction until he sees the smile on Aziraphale’s face, the way his eyes glow a soft, tranquil blue when he opens them.

When Aziraphale moves his mouth to speak, Crowley is certain he’s going to ask him to kiss him again.

Instead, he says, “Why?”

Mildly offended, Crowley asks, “Why _wut_?”

“Why did you rush in like that?”

Crowley grins. “Because sometimes, my love, you think too much.”

Aziraphale nods sharply. “Right. Two can play at that game, I _think_.” He kisses Crowley back before the demon gets the chance, swallowing a laugh but tasting a moan when Aziraphale gets a bit daring and puts a hand on his knee.

This kiss. is. the _one_.

The first kiss was nice as far as first kisses go, but this …

This is the kiss they get lost in.

It’s not so much about future, but about _fire_.

It’s the second half of the coin, the savory to Crowley’s sweet, and all because this time, Aziraphale kissed first.

Crowley reaches out, puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, sliding it across to support him as he bends him back, ready to resume control.

If Aziraphale feels like giving it.

Crowley’s other arm settles at the small of Aziraphale’s back, holding him tight.

And Aziraphale drops his book.

“So, gentlemen … how’d that work?”

Aziraphale pulls back with a start. He would have crashed to the bench if not for Crowley’s arm holding him. “Uh …” he stammers, his cheeks flushing red when he sees the woman’s face peering down at him.

For a second, he fears he’s in trouble, though he doesn’t know why.

Crowley answers for them: “Worked a treat. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The smile on her face beams as if it has the sun behind it. “You dropped this.” She holds out the book – a collection of works by Oscar Wilde – that Aziraphale is too stunned and embarrassed to take. She puts it on the bench beneath his back, then resumes walking her way. “Have a nice day, Crowley. Aziraphale.”

“You as well,” Crowley says, forgetting about her quickly, more than ready to start kissing his angel again.

“Is she … _American_?” Aziraphale asks. Her voice didn’t exactly fit her face, but it also sounded familiar, like he might have heard it in a movie. He can’t seem to place it, think as he might. And he does think on it - _hard_, even while Crowley does his darndest to seduce him. That makes Aziraphale chuckle to himself.

Crowley is right. He _does_ think too much.

“Dunno. Didn’t ask.” Crowley decides not to wait any longer and starts kissing Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale moves his chin up, lengthening the column of his throat, all the while frowning at the woman as he watches her go.

“Wait a minute - isn’t she one of your assignments?”

“No.”

“Then what did she have to do with all this?”

“I met her by the duck pond. She gave me advice. That’s pretty much it.”

“She gave you advice on kissing?”

“No – on how to get _you_ to kiss …” Crowley looks up, his forehead wrinkling, the most bizarrely contemplative expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t … I don’t think I told her our names.” Crowley looks over his shoulder. The woman is nowhere to be seen. But his angel is, there in front of him. In his arms, as a matter of fact. And if the pucker of his lips is anything to go by, Crowley doesn’t think he’d object to being kissed again. So he does just that, wrapping his arms around him along with cloaked wings, shielding him, with the help of some demonic magic, from the public eye.

Then there’s nothing left to see of the angel and demon making out on a park bench at three in the afternoon.

The woman in the white suit looks over her shoulder at them, straight through Crowley’s magic, and smiles.

“Dear Me,” she mutters. “It’s about frickin’ time. Only took them 6000 years. Don’t know what they were waiting for. The end of the world? Oh …” She chuckles darkly “… wait …”

She reaches the tree line, out of notice of the mortals, and transforms into a small, white dove. She banks over the park, doing one last check on the kids, the ducks, the foreign agents, Aziraphale and Crowley. Done with Her business for the day, she flies up into the clouds and heads home.


End file.
